Vic Daniel 6 - As she rides by

somethin’ like ‘Christ, they’re all over the place,’ and did that joint empty in a hurry. I never even got to see the end of the movie.”
    “The end of the movie,” I said, “goes like this. All through, whenever Jack, as Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, starts his ‘To be or not to be’ speech, this good-looking guy who is Robert Stack as an airman, sitting up front, gets up and noisily excuses himself all down the row to head out back to Jack’s wife’s dressing room for a cuddle. Robert finally goes home to Kansas or England or somewhere, to Jack’s delight. So when he confidently starts, ‘To be or not to be’ at the end, he is not amused when a good-looking guy in a sailor’s outfit this time gets up from the front and starts saying, ‘Excuse me, excuse me, excuse me,’ all down the line.”
    “Neat,” said the twerp.
    “Now what, Victor?” said Phineas from my one spare chair.
    “What do you think, gang? Think it’s time I gave the boss of the once mighty Pussy Gato Adult Cinema Company a tinkle?” I inquired to the assembly. The assembly thought it a jolly good idea. So did I.
    “Care to do the honors, Sara my sweet?” I dug out the number and passed it over. “To use these new phones, you don’t have to make all those circles with your finger anymore, you just have to tap the numbers you want.”
    She favored me with a look, then tapped.
    “Helloo?” she said, in an affected voice. “Mr. Daniel’s private secretary here.” That’ll be the day, I thought. “He’s calling your Mr. Gall, puulese. Yes, I’ll hold.” She held. “Mr. Gall? I have Mr. Daniel for you, will you hold?” Evidently he held, because he was still there when I wrestled the phone from the noodlehead.
    “Mr. Gall,” I said warmly, “V. Daniel here. So how’s business these days?” Pause. “Really; fallen off, eh? Sorry to hear that.”
    “Yeah, I’ll bet you are,” he said.
    Then I said, “For what reason? Maybe it’s just a temporary slump. Or it could be cyclical. Or it could be mice? Infestations? Acid bombs and stink bombs? I can hardly believe my ears.”
    “Yeah, I bet you can’t,” he said.
    Then I said, “Look, Mr. Gall, you’re a businessman, so let us talk business. You know how vulnerable places of public enjoyment are, and I’m not even talking about fire law contraventions and rancid popcorn oil and LSD in the water cooler and illegal importuning of minors in the lavatories and goodness knows what some revengeful citizen might dream up. Also, would you not say that one characteristic of the successful businessman is knowing when to cut his losses? Of course you would. So let’s get together on this, Mr. Gall, let’s pass the peace pipe, I bet I could borrow one from Joe.”
    There I paused while Mr. Gall told me what I could do with Injun Joe’s peace pipe, and it didn’t involve passing it. He then told me what I could do with Injun Joe, too. Then I reminded him that whatever skirmishes might take place, as long as us principals remained firm, as we would, and the evidence remained secure, as it was, and thus the restraining order remained in force, as it was, he was up against it, was he not? I also reminded him that I had a realtor amigo who was prepared to take the property off his hands toot sweet, for a fair and just price. Pause. Then he said, “Get him to call me.” I said I would, and made a “V” for victory sign to the assembly.
    “One more thing,” I said, “afore ye go. Kindly send Amos and Andy around one of these days, would you, to take down that fence? No, I don’t know how much it cost you, but I bet I spent more on Injun Joe’s wardrobe.”

Chapter Nineteen

    So I’m sittin’ and I’m sweatin’ in a tin bar near the border,
    Sharin’ a bottle of cold Carta Blanca with my memories...

    T hursday morning, at eleven a.m., I went to a funeral. I won’t bother you with all the details, but it took place at a funeral home way down on Pico. It was for a kid I knew who had been slain in some crack-related affair, on a friend’s lawn a couple of blocks from his own house. His pop—a pal of mine and an ex-cop—“ex” because he’d been shot, too, ironically also in a crack-related affair, only from the other side—hadn’t been able to do much with the kid. Nor had my pal’s widow, so she asked me and I had a go a couple of times and didn’t get very far, either. In fact, I didn’t get anywhere, it looked like.
    I sat there, at the